An Eventful Night
by Ennessee
Summary: After the interrogation with the Redcoats, rain starts to fall; Connor is invited by his father to take shelter under his roof. This experience will change irremediably the life of the Templar Grandmaster, and not the way he had expected.
1. There's The Kettle

It was evening, but it wasn't an ordinary evening for Haytham Kenway. Not much time had passed from his first meeting with his own son –known to him as Connor- and so now he was curious to see how the boy was going to behave.

The Templar Grandmaster had to admit that he was feeling rather nervous and anxious, and this didn't please him. He arrived an hour before dawn at the place of the meeting and he had spent his time strolling around and trying to recognize his son in every stranger he met. It was not just an appointment to spend some time with his offspring: on the contrary, father and son were enemies in their war, but this time they were working together to localise a common enemy. None of them knew how long the peace would last or if they were satisfied with each other, but work was work. So even though the man had swore to himself that he would not grow attached to his boy, he felt curiosity when he finally saw him.

'Let's see what he can do'.

The man, to most just an ordinary, middle-aged person, was very agile for his age and, of course, he was not prosaic at all. He was a Templar.

He followed his son for fifteen minutes and then he decided to jump down of the rooftops in the marketplace.

"Good evening, Connor" he said without wasting time, and then their work begun.

It was raining cats and dogs when they finished the inquiry with the redcoats. With such an awful weather, it was impossible for Connor to come back to his home or wherever he intended to spend the night.

"May I offer you a cup of tea?" the older man asked, looking at his horrified son.

"You have just killed a man. How can you be in the mood for a cup of tea?"

"It is getting freezing cold, Son, and you look so... _delicate_. We wouldn't want you to get a cold, now, would we?" he asked, a bit more sarcastic than he would have wanted.

"All right. I am curious to taste your famous 'English tea', Father" he answered sharply.

Haytham narrowed his eyes, somehow glad of his response. 'He has surely inherited his mother's dry humour. I certainly missed that during my lonely hears'. He thought.

They didn't have to walk much under the timing rain before arriving in the Grandmaster's quarters. Even though the building looked sternly elegant and well kept, Connor was surprised to find out that its inside was rather humble and plain. The Grandmaster had never really cared about his house's arrangement, that was for sure.

The place was sad in its simplicity and Connor went back with his mind to the manor where he had spent so much time working and studying. The place was surely quieter and it had been theatre of terrible tragedies years before, but while walking the hall of that big house, a shade of happiness and vivacity that had once populated that place could still be felt. In his father's house, though, all the young Assassin could feel was a depressing atmosphere and the sadness of a man who had spent a lot of time alone. Haytham noticed the boy's expression and for the first time in years admitted that the place, even if it was just a temporary lodging, was indeed in need for a maid to take care at least for the food.

"Is it here... where you live?" asked Connor with his usual polite voice, crusted now with caution.

"Yes. Might not me the Queen's lodging... but yes. Now..." he sat down in a chair and he pointed at the table, "there's the kettle"

"... I can see that myself".

"Well, what are you waiting for, then? Make some tea, boy!"

"I was expecting _you_ to make tea for me, Father".

"Oh, well. I though _making tea_ was part of your repertoire as well, but I can clearly see that the Old Man has been quite neglectful". He glanced at his son, expecting a reply, but all he got was a growl.

"That is not true" said Connor, and he grabbed the kettle with surprising strength.

After some time they were quietly sipping their tea. There was silence and peace in the room. Nobody could tell that those two men sitting in front of each other were enemies, but not even that they were father and son. They looked like two people who don't know each other very well, but are starting to deepen their acquaintance.

"So... is 'Connor' your true name?" the elder man asked in the end.

"No...that was not the name my mother gave me"

"Oh? And which is that?"

"... ".The young Assassin stared silently at the ceiling, doubtful, then he answered: "my mother called me Rathnhnhaké:ton"

"A Kanien'kehà:ka name, no doubt. I am afraid I'm not able to pronounce that"

"You wouldn't bother anyway" was the harsh response, and the Templar Grand Master sighed.

"Why not? You're my son. We may not have a real bond, but to learn your name... it is the least I can do".

"Are you talking seriously?" Connor asked. Even though his father's eyes were though and merciless, his voice had softened a little, and this surprised the young man. He was going to reply something sharp, something blunt so that emotions could not overtake him, but the question that he made slipped out of his lips.

"You couldn't pronounce my mother's name either, could you?"

Silence followed. Haytham lowered his eyes on the yellow liquid in his cup. His stomach had suddenly shrieked and he felt slightly giddy.

"Of course I could" he replied in the end. His voice was almost tender as he spoke the words, and his eyes were lost in memories from the past.

It didn't last long, however, and he was soon on his feet.

"Off you go, then. Last room to the left. You can sleep there, if you want. You can heat water in the kitchen if you need a bath, which I highly recommend..." he said, and his son grinned and waved his hand before heading to his lodgings. Haytham stood and looked at him until the door closed behind his back.

Enemies or not, he couldn't stop himself from feeling pride for that strong ad brave boy that was the result of the only experience of true love he had had in his whole life.

**Notes: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! I would be very happy to receive critics and corrections.**


	2. Midnight Storm

Later that night, just when Haytham Kenway had fallen asleep, a noise of clashing metal woke him up.

'Damn!' he thought, and he suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to close the window in the dining room. He climbed out of bed slowly and he grabbed a dressing gown. The rain had turned into a rather rough windstorm that showed no sign of calming or slowing down. Sighing, the tired Templar Grandmaster hurried in the nearby room and he rushed over the window.

'I've been lucky that the glass didn't break' he thought, relieved, but then another sound made him startle. Another room seemed to have an open window and it was nonetheless that the one in his son's room. The man stopped and asked himself what was the best thing to do.

'I don't give a damn about him getting a cold, but you know... I wouldn't like the window to be damaged. Silly boy. Maybe he's doing it on purpose to grate on my nerves'. He tiptoed silently in the corridor, hoping that the rumour could stop and that he could return to his room. When he reached the end of the passage, though, he beckoned that there was absolutely no choice for that to happen. He didn't lose time: he opened the door violently and he parted his lips, ready to tell the boy off, when he noticed something.

His son was actually sleeping soundly, so the noise of the wind had not disturbed him at all. Hoping to avoid a quarrel in the middle of the night, the older man decided to stay silent and to consider the cause of the 'accident' the young age and the lack of experience. Before leaving the room, however, he turned in the direction of the bed where his son lay. His expression was peaceful, his eyes closed, and he was slightly snoring. All his weapons were on the table, kept quite far from him, further than a warrior like Haytham would have advised. This made him feel uncomfortable.

'I could kill him. I could kill him right now, if I wanted' he thought, and then the sound of a long forgotten memory of his childhood made him shiver. His eyes turned cold again and he left the room, but notwithstanding of the cold weather a warm feeling guided him to his room and lulled him into a finally quiet, peaceful sleep.

On the following day, when the Grandmaster woke up, he felt... important. He jumped out of bed and he thought about making breakfast. 'I have a guest after all and it is important to make things right'.

He laid the table and he cooked something. For the first time in months, maybe years, there was something hot to drink and scrambled eggs, his favourite childhood food. Haytham's stomach shrank with delight.

"Are you coming, boy?" he said raising his voice in direction of the kitchen. No one answered, not something that a Templar Grandmaster would allow.

"I am speaking with you, lad!" he yelled, "the eggs will get cold!". Silence again.

"You've got to move on, boy! I am starving!" he exclaimed merrily, and then he decided to call his son in the room where he had spent the night.

"I'm coming in!" he exclaimed, surprised by the fact that for once he was enjoying himself. He slammed the door open and...

There was no one.

Haytham dropped the cloth he was holding in his hand.

Suddenly, he did not feel like eating the eggs anymore.

**Notes: I hope you liked it. Thank you for reading!**


	3. Conspiracy? - Part I

The light in the tavern was dim and the temperature was unbearably hot. To worsen the situation, the stench of sweat and wine was heavy in the air, making it difficult to breath. The whole atmosphere was even more oppressive for the once sophisticated Templar Grandmaster, Haytham Kenway, who had just arrived at the meeting point and was now climbing slowly the stairs to reach his Templar brothers for their monthly gathering.

"Gentlemen," he began, nodding to Charles and a few other Templars that were there to substitute the ones the Assassin had killed, and then he sat.

It was somehow sad how now the faces that were staring at him were showing dazed expression, and some of the new recruits couldn't keep their mouths closed, so they stared at him showing the complete set of their teeth. The Grandmaster missed the noise that had once filled that room, when he was still dedicated to the Templar cause and most of his friends were alive. Who could have guessed back then that Hickey's belches would be missed so much? That time was over, though. Better not to think about it.

"Master Kenway" said Charles solemnly, standing up as he sat down. He was always formal in the presence of the other Templars, but he was always willing to show the others the place he occupied in the Grandmaster's life.

"Sit down, please" Haytham replied, tired.

"I have something to communicate" he continued, scowling at two adepts who were laughing at him. "I have a plan. A plan to murder all the remaining Assassin" he declared, looking around him. A loud 'ooh' came from the rest of the group, and excitement spread quickly among the recruits. Charles Lee looked at his Master, expecting surprise and satisfaction on his face, but all he could see was that the man had not reacted at all. Truth be told, Haytham felt petrified. It hadn't been more than two weeks that his son had left his house in the middle of the night and had not come back. He found it difficult to admit, but in the end he had confessed to himself that he missed the boy. He admitted to himself that he felt broken-hearted. To think about killing him, then... it was just impossible.

"Calm down, gentleman. Before getting excited, let's listen to the plan. Let's see if it can work".

'Charles does not know that Connor is my son, after all. I am the only one who will decide when it is time for him to leave this world, as I have been the one to bring him here' he thought, but as he pronounced those words inside his mind, the headache that had been tormenting his for days came back. It wasn't time for regret and doubt, now. He had to listen, and then... then, it was another matter.

"We all know that the boy is hiding in the Homestead up on the hill, and that the doors of that old hovel are opened to everyone. It is simple: we'll disguise ourselves for needy travellers, and once in, we'll kill the boy and the Old Man, wiping the race of the Assassins away forever... from this Earth".

Applauses followed. They were loud and enthusiastic; Charles seemed to be enjoying himself, and for that reason Haytham hated him even more in that moment.

"Shut up!" he exclaimed, banging the table with his fist. Everyone turned in his direction. "You're just being noisy. Charles, please, explain better your plan".

"I have just done so, Master".

"The details, Charles. I mean the details".

"There are not relevant ones, Master Kenway. As I have said, we'll disguise ourselves in heavy cloaks..."

"Really? And you are convinced that they'll just open up the gates to forty, suspicious-looking strangers popped out of nowhere?" he asked, his tone more angry than he would have liked. 'Such a stupid plan. He won't last without my help'.

He saw hatred burning in his loyal friend's eyes, and he asked himself: is it worth it? Am I ready to leave this man's loyalty, this satisfying position for a son you've just met?

"Your idea is good, Charles. We just have to smooth the angles".

They talked for another hour and a half before heading home. The final decision was ultimately to be made by the Grandmaster and his left arm, so Haytham and Lee were walking towards their carriages slowly, none of them talking even though they should.

"So, Haytham" Charles said in the end, "what do you _actually_ think?"

"We need to be careful. I do not exclude that there might be more of them"

"What?" the other man exclaimed, stopping and staring at his master.

"You haven't thought about it? Of course the boy has not been waiting for us to come and has gathered his own little army".

"You mean there might be other Assassins?"

"I mean... yes, that's what I mean".

"I don't know, Master. I really don't know".

"You should have considered it, Charles. You should never neglect such details".

Silence followed.

"When will we strike?"

"This is up to you, Charles. It is your plan".

"Then let's not waste time. We will strike tomorrow night".

Haytham turned the corner, then he stopped. In a bolt of lightning, he relived the last two months, the time spent on the Aquila, Church's death, the hellish day after his son had left. And he understood.

"Charles?" he asked, looking into his eyes. _Jealously. _"Do you think you can manage this alone?"

"Yes, Haytham. Please, trust me".

The Grandmaster turned his back and stepped into the carriage.

He had time to think, and to decide what to do and who to betray.

**Notes: Thank you for reading! I really appreciate reviews and comments,too. Please feel free to make me know if there are any mistakes, that would be useful at well. Suggestions are welcome, too!**


	4. Conspiracy!- Part II

On the following day, Haytham woke up at the sound of knocking. It was still dark outside, dump and slightly foggy, and the Templar Grandmaster wondered who dared to disturb him during that hour of the night. He jumped out of bed, still dressed from the day- he had lost the habit to use a nightgown years ago- and he run to the door. He turned the knob violently and he found... his son's face, staring at him.

"Father".

"Connor. To what do I owe this honour, this... midnight visit?"

"It is not midnight".

Haytham tightened his lips. 'This time, I won't let him in' he thought.

"What do you want?" he asked, sour.

"What does it mean, Father? Don't tell me you forgot"

"Forget what?"

"We have to warn Washington! The attack is planned for tomorrow, don't you remember?"

"..."

A pause followed. "Have you not read my note?"

"I don't know what you are talking about" he replied, dry.

His son did not look at him directly for a long moment. Then, just when the silence was turning uncomfortable, Connor spoke with his usual, flat voice that made Haytham's chest puff with paternal pride with no particular reason:

"Breakfast, then?"

He did love that voice.

About an hour later, no-one was hungry any more. Haytham looked at his son, who was eating with ferocity, wiping away everything his father put in his plate, which was a continuous refillment of whatever laid in the pantry.

The Grandmaster resisted the temptation to use his sarcasm, keeping his mouth shut for was enjoying himself, after all, and did not want to spoil the moment. He felt content, more so because that sudden visit was perfect in order to ruin Charles' plan. Connor and he would be gone all day; meanwhile, in the dead of night, Charles would have dealt with the Old Man. With him gone, there was still hope. Hope for him and Connor to be reunited; hope for the two have a chance, a true one. He could almost see the moment when he would slide the Templar ring on his son's finger. Now, though, was time to focus on what was ahead.

The wind was brisk and the the mid-autumn air felt even more cold at Valley Forge. Even though they were still far, Connor and his father could smell the horrible odour of horse stink and rotten wounds coming from the camp. It was not a good first impression. The Assassin though, didn't seem to notice or even to care about that. 'He is too focused on his adoration for Washington' Haytham thought, hovering between anger and envy. After all, the Commander had not achieved so much- at least in his opinion- and he could not understand why his son esteemed him so much.

"Commander" Connor greeted him, and the man looked at him like if he was the incarnation of his guardian angel. They started to talk about was about to happen and Haytham got angry. They were ignoring him, and Washington's intonation left no doubt: they were not just co-workers. They were _friends_.

"And what is this?" he asked, looking on the table and skimming quickly through a letter that lay on the table. And recognising the name of his son's village near to verbs such as 'destroy' and 'burn'. It was his moment, the one he had been waiting for for the past months: now he could finally prove Connor that he was wrong. But things didn't go as expected ...

What happened afterwards passed like a lightning bolt. Connor pointed the finger against him, forgetting who the enemy was. Forgetting that the culprit of what was going to happen, of the situation, of his _unhappiness, _was George himself.

So he left, angry. He cared just about his village, about to be attacked by the Patriots. His people, he said. _His people_. Like if he did not matter, like if his father's origins were not to be taken in account. So he left him there, without much explanations . He left him alone with Washington.

'I could kill him right now' he thought, but then his son's face came back to his mind.

Disappointment, hurt, hatred, loneliness. He had thought that he already knew about the attack. _Not entirely true_.

The Commander turned his back and tried to get away.

"Wait!" the Templar called back. The general turned in his direction.

"I did what had to be done".

"You can do something to mend yourself"

"I do not take orders from you..."

"I am serious. An attack has been ordered on his Homestead. If you don't stop them, Connor's Mentor will die, and whoever is dear to him. Please".

Haytham had never asked anything. He had never relied on others; it was not in his ways. Today, though, something had changed. He wanted to stop the chain of pain and hate that tied the human race's hands. He felt exhausted, too tired to settle things properly, but not so mindless to let things flow that way.

"Does he mean nothing to you? It would cost you nothing." Then, seeing the man wavering, he added, "it would cost me nothing to kill you, for me. Just a pair of well-placed men..."

"All right, all right,." he replied after a moment of estimation, "Tell me where, and when".

"I will. But there are three conditions. I'll be quick about it. First: nobody shall be harmed, no matter what faction they belong. Secondly, nobody must know that I ordered this".

"Nothing else?"

"Math is not your favourite subject, is it? Third and last point: I'll be the one to deal with the Old Man. Don't let anyone approach the house"

It was risky, risky indeed. There were very high chances to be harmed or, worse, discovered. But he had to try.


	5. The Night Has Come

Everything was ready.

It was almost time to go.

Haytham was squatting in a bush, not too far from Davemport property, so that he could see clearly enough in the dark night the roof the the red-bricked house. It was not the first time he found himself in the same place, but the circumstances now were different; very different indeed.

_Trum, trum,trum._

'Horses approaching'. He thought, and then pulled his hood further on his eyes. He walked silently in the shade of the trees, until he approached a place where he could eavesdrop easily what was about to be said.

"Brothers, fellow Templars" began Charles' hoarse voice, "we are here for a reason. We must exterminate the enemy, kill every man that gets on our way. We will do everything and anything in order to reach our goal. Too long, my friends, have we waited to see this day come. For too long this ... human waste has lived. These people breath to destroy us, thread plots against us any moment...against us! And the people believe it is _them_ who fight for justice, who fight with honour!". As his voice rose, anger started to boil in the soldiers' veins. No wonder that man was a general.

"So let us go, comrades. Let's destroy them, and feel no remorse. Let's make our Grandmaster proud!"

With this final exclamation, he pointed at the forest behind his shoulders. They were going to inspect everything before heading directly to the Homestead on the hill. This gave some more time for Washington's regulars to arrive. They were already late, very late, and Haytham was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

The Templars strolled up and down the path next to him silently. One of the riders, a young man in his thirties, had been recruited just a few weeks earlier by the Grandmaster himself.

'This is the second time I betray my people' he though with a gust of guilt blowing through his mind.

'This is not the time to think about it, though'. He peered outside. Still, nothing.

A scream. It sounded like a woman. Another one followed shortly after; the one of a baby.

"Let them be! ... for now!" exclaimed Charles, "we must hurry before the Assassin is warned!"

Haytham's heart skipped a beat. Then, as soon as he began to run with as much breath his lung could provide him, it accelerated tremendously. He ran towards the house, because now it was clear to him that Washington would not come. He crossed the main path, then he moved diagonally uphill, until he found himself just outside the window of what seemed the living room. He then squatted on a bush. He had maybe a couple of minutes.

"Take some more vegetables, Connor" the Old Man was saying. He could see both him and his son, sitting near and dining at the big table.

"You take it, Old Man. I know you like lettuce". Connor's tone was sweet and careful.

"No, you do. I don't have a body like yours to fuel".

The Grandmaster could not stand such familiarity from a former enemy, especially when directed to his own son. So, willing to destroy this loving scene, he took a stone and he threw it in the window.

"And what was that?" Connor's voice was quite and calm as usual.

"Ah, my window!"

"This is not the time to worry about these things, Old Man. You hear something?"

"It seems like a scream".

"I will go and check. You stay here"

"No, Connor!" exclaimed the men's voice, and Haytham jumped from where he was hiding. For a moment, the eyes of the Mentor looked in his direction. For a long, long, interminable moment they stared silently at each other. Haytham froze and opened his eyes wild open.

"Be careful. They are not 'any men'".

"What do you mean?" he asked, but the noise of a gunshot interrupted him.

He disappeared in a nearby room and just a few moments after, a door swung open just a few inches from a most frightened Templar Grandmaster. He turned his head in the direction of the broken window and he met a quiet, patient gaze of his son's Mentor. And he knew.

Haytham had never run as he did that night. He threw his body in a quick race toward the place of the alleged battle, holding the fabric that kept his hood on his head tightly with his left hand. In his right one, a sword.

The path went downhill and leaded to the battle, even if the word itself was exaggerated. Most of the Templars had fled as soon as they had heard the sound of sword. Charles had engaged fight with a dark-skinned man whose voice was insulting him in the worst of the ways. But of course a rake could not compete with proper equipment; the man fell quickly on the ground, unharmed, and Charles was just about to finish him with the tip of his sword when another man jumped and hit Charles behind his back.

'No, not this way' Haytham thought. He could not afford to lose his right-hand, after all. He threw a knife which pierced the man's hand and sent the poor soul moaning onto the ground. All around him, other people were fighting. For a moment, the inability of his men unharmed him mentally.

'But where the hell is Connor?' he thought, just a moment before seeing him appear from behind a tree with bloody hands.

"Charles!" he screamed, and he immediately engaged a fight with him.

Meanwhile, a very big man with a horrible hat pointed at Haytham, and in a matter of seconds he was surrounded by two males which both irked him and encouraged his sense of pity as they were not just fighting against him, but where in the same time quarrelling with each other about what was the best thing to do.

Haytham dodged the axe with his left hand and grabbed its hilt, unarming his enemy. 'Too easy'. He took his wrist and twisted it until the noise of broken bone assured him that he would be quiet for a while. His comrade was even easier to defeat. Now he could focus on what was going on around him.

"You cannot hope to defeat us, Assassin! We are too strong!"

"Really? Then get off that horse and prove it to me!"

"Oh, you would like that, wouldn't you? To be face to face with me. But I won't do it. I promised Haytham I would be coming back home to him safe and sound, so that I could narrate him everything in detail. Oh? Didn't you know that? It was him, the Grandmaster himself that ordered this attack. The very men you've been working with in these past months. As you can see, he has no pity for you anyway".

Connor walked backwards. Even though he never showed his feelings, this time his face was a mask of sorrow and anger.

"He wanted to make sure that you and your dear Mentor suffered the most atrocious fears before dying. I am sure the Old Man did not tell you the whole story of his defeat. You will hear it, and then we will see how you will judge him".

"Is... is he here? Your... Grandmaster?"

Charles took a moment to answer. He hid an arm behind his back so that he could reach the pistol he had in his back pouch.

"Yes. He will be already in the Manor, searching for your little friends".

_ '__He behaves just like a traitor"_ he thought, disgusted by the idea of one of his men killing someone shooting behind his back.

As soon as the words were pronounced, however, Connor turned his back and began to set his feet so that he could reach the top of the little hill, directly in the house.

He didn't know that this move had been calculated.

Just as he moved the first step, flying in the air as only the Iroquois could do, a gun was pointed behind his back.

"Connor!"

_**Notes:**_**Thank you for reading! Please review and comment, it would be very appreciated. This chapter was hard to write for me since English is not my first language and action scenes are particularly difficult too describe. If you find any mistakes or you have any ideas on how to make it better, please let me know!**


	6. The Down Is Coming

The shout remained suspended in the air for a few seconds.

Haytham pulled both his hands in front of his mouth, biting his index finger in a desperate attempt to stifle the anxiety that in a matter of seconds had spread in his mind and in every fibre of his body.

Then, just when he thought that the worse was over, the shoot came.

"Connor!" he screamed again, but it was useless.

The boy was hit just behind his back, and in a matter of seconds he laid unconscious- if not dead- in a pool of blood, on the floor.

For a very long moment, Haytham stared at him. He looked fixedly at his son's back, at the blood flooding the nearby grass. His head had drooped at an uneven angle on the ground. The situation was not good. These thoughts, however, lasted just a moment. The next one, the Templar Grandmaster took his loaded pistol in his hand and pointed at Charles Lee. Just a few seconds had passed, and the British General had just turned in his direction.

"Look what we have here. A friend of the Assassin, is it?" he began, but his sentence never came to an end. As a preventive rejoinder, Haytham had pulled the trigger, which was pointing directly at his stomach, and his friend, his loyal servant, was now fatally wounded and he dropped dead shortly after.

He didn't have time to think about it. He could not enjoy the revenge for his son, whose state of health was unknown to him. The Grandmaster allowed himself just a moment to kneel down next to his son to check if he was breathing before heading toward the house on the hill. He knew well what was to come, so he had to ensure that Connor would have found someone to take care of him after the battle.

He ran uphill without pausing until he found himself in front of the open door. Steel clashing could be heard from the outside, but Haytham allowed himself a moment to pull his hood down and settle his hair before stepping into the room.

In the living room, the Old Man was facing at least five opponents with the help of a tiny knife and a skinny lady that covered his back. His courage was admirable.

"Brothers" Haytham called, apparently calm in his tone of voice, "lay down your weapons!". Silence fell, heavy, in the room.

"Let me face my enemy. Let me face the one thing that has harassed my life since I was but a boy. There are circumstances, my friends, to be avoided. There are people that are better to cut off before time makes them grow like climbers and it makes difficult to extirpate them". He looked in his old enemy's eyes, catching sight of a glance of fear, but also of challenge and relief.

"So, comrades, let me do it. Let me kill the true wickedness of the world!"

Haytham's words were accompanied with a cry of joy and enthusiasm from his comrades. Then, as soon as he transfixed the first Templar with his sword, it ceased, replace by a scream of terror. He cut them off with anger and grief, while, for the first time after many years, he felt better. Two tears rolled down silently, because he knew that his life was ending in that same moment. He made sure that they suffered, at least a little bit before their passing, as wretched men like them deserved so in his opinion. They had been following a Creed without discussing orders, even when it was about slaughtering innocents. And now, it was time they paid for it. It was time for the whole Templar Order to pay for what it had been done to him. His own son had been taken away from him because of them, his family had been killed, everything besides that occupation destroyed. Now, the bill had been paid. Six bloody corpses had seen to that.

When the fight ended, Haytham turned his back and looked besides him. The eyes of the Assassin Mentor were fixed in his. He held the girl's hands and he reassured the poor soul- which had buried her head in his back not to see the horrible scene- , but he never interrupted the eye contact.

"Connor..."

"Go!"

"He..."

"Take him here!"

So, for the tenth time that day, he run down the hill and then up again, but this time, carrying his child in his arms. The boy weighted incredibly on his shoulder, but his instinct didn't allow him to stop and lay him down.

"Oh God, I don't even know if he breaths!" he thought, suddenly panicking as soon as he stepped in the house again.

"Upper floor".

"You've got to be kidding, Man!"

"I am not. Now hurry!"

Haytham laid down his son on the bed in his room. He then started to peace to and fro, nervous.

"Will he live?" he said at last, turning and looking at his son, who lay unconscious on the bed.

"... If you will help me, you could make things easier."

Haytham drooped his head and his chest and fainted as a response.

**Notes: I hope you enjoy the new chapter. Please comment and review!**


	7. Awakening

Haytham sat on the edge of the bed. Twelve days had passed since the night of the attack, yet his son showed no sign of waking up from the coma. For endless hours he had sat there, waiting for a sign, for a little sparkle of hope, but nothing came. After the first day, when he finally understood that there was nothing concrete that could be done, he mustered up enough courage to touch Connor's forehead. He would apply a wet cloth and then wait.

That day, though, he felt discouraged and empty. He had had breakfast downstairs with the Old Man, and everything had been silent and dark. When he finally sat at his son's side, the situation had not improved.

'How many hours have I spent here?' he asked himself, 'and how many has the man whom which I share the name of 'father' to him? Has this been wasted time? What would happen if he was not to survive?' he stood up and began to peace to and fro.

"This is all your fault, Connor! I should have never let you in my life!" he exclaimed, stopping in the middle of the room. He then turned towards the bed, where his son laid. He looked so little, so harmless that his anger faded away. He approached slowly. He wasn't wearing his usual coat and cloak, so he felt slightly cold. He sat on the edge of thee bed and looked slowly down at him.

His feelings came back all together all at once. He let go and he hid his face on his son's chest, surrounding it with arms. He started crying without even realising it. There was nothing left for him. He did not have the courage to show up in front of his Templar brother and pretend that he had not witnessed the events; he just wanted Connor to wake up, and then...

Then, what?

Nothing, maybe. But he whished to have a chance above anything else.

' I am just a fool' he thought, but he was unable to move. He allowed himself to stay there a little bit more. Just a little bit.

"So, what are you going to do?" asked the Old Man later that evening.

Haytham wondered if he knew about his breakdown and felt ashamed for a moment. Then, confident that age had lowered his hearing ability, he replied: "Are you looking forward my departure, aren't you?"

"I have not said that".

"But you surely do"

"Who sais that?"

"I do".

"You're always the same"

"You, on the contrary, have changed a lot"

"Really? You have aged, mate. Sorry, but I am not going to hear your insults. I am leaving at once!"

"You misread me".

"You are just trying to trick me. To exhort inexistent sentimentalism from me. It will not happen!"

"Would you just listen..."

"In all these years, all you've done has been to spur my own son against me. For all these years, you've crammed his head with lies, lies... lies! You took advantage of him to take revenge on me!"

"If I am not wrong, you were the one to order his execution. You showed no pity, no mercy through your own boy. You simply didn't care!"

"Really? You have some guts! You talk without even knowing it. It is my son, Old Man, not yours!" he yelled, and for a moment his eyes were locked into his enemy's ones. He found anger, but also sorrow.

"Enough!" screamed a voice. 'It cannot be...'

"Connor! Connor, boy, go back-"

"No! What were you talking about? You-... Why is he here?"

Connor was as white as a ghost. Letting him stand like that would have lead to no good. Haytham was curious about how the Assassin Mentor was going to deal with the situation.

"How many times do I have to tell you that you must not walk bare feet? Go immediately upstairs and get into bed. I am coming with you medication immediately".

The boy lowered his head. "At once, Old Man. I am sorry".

As soon as the boy had disappeared upstairs, Haytham began to whisper.

"What are you going to do, Old Man?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, sitting down quietly and calmly.

"I asked what you are going to tell him. If either the truth or what is most useful to you".

The man turned and watched behind his back. "Connor?! I already told you that it is not good education to eavesdrop. Go back in bed or I come with the stick". He turned to Haytham again.

"How did you know he was there?"

"I know my chicken. And since you're offended me, I don't think I am going to answer to your question. I will see you later"

"But..."

"Now go and clean up the kitchen. If you are staying here, you will contribute".

... and this is how the Templar Grandmaster, owner of immense power and wealth found himself with a sweep in hands, cleaning the floor of one of his former worst enemies.

But he would not surrender, of course. So, as soon as he heard footsteps on the stairs, he climbed the windows.

**Notes: Sorry for the delay! School has started and I am very busy! Please comment and review :)**


	8. The Blue Sight Of The Sea

"So, Old Man?" Connor asked. He sat on the bed with crossed legs. His eyes appeared weary and sickly circled by black marks. His voice was weak and slightly trembling.

Achilles sat on the chair in front of the bed with his usual slow motion. He looked at his student with shining eyes wich shrouded a certain affection and relief.

"It... is good to see you up. We feared the worst".

"Is it... a way to say that you missed me?" he said with a slight smirk. The Old man waved at him with an ironic gesture. It was evident that there was a certain... feeling among them. They could understand each other almost spontaneously.

"You said... 'we'".

"I did".

"So... my father was there from the beginning"

There was a pause. A slight shift of position. A thick veil of discomfort.

"Yes. He was here the night of the attack"

"Of course. Side to side with Charles Lee". He jumped off the bed and started pacing to and fro.

"Charles Lee is dead"

The Assassin's words remained suspended in the air.

"Yes. Dead. Your father shot him after he shot you".

"I do not understand"

"Sit, Connor"

"But..."

"I said, sit!"

The young man startled at the sudden change of tone, but obeyed nonetheless.

"Your father Haytham, the ruthless man who destroyed the Assassin brotherhood and exterminated any and each of my allies and friends has given up everything he had, and was, for you. The night of the attack he killed his Templar friends and clearly decided to retire with a last, clamorous action".

"So he has been here since the night of the attack?"

"Yes, he's been ill, too, but refused to give you up. He stayed by your side with a terrible fever. He stunned me".

"So what are we supposed to do now?" Connor looked nervous and unsure, now. He clearly wasn't expecting that.

"Well, that is your choice to make. You have to speak with him. I am sure he wants to finally take his... rightful place. To replace me"

"Replace you?"

"Yes. He is your father after all. It is his right to retake what is his".

"What are you talking about?! No-one can replace you, Old Man. No one is able to grumble twenty-four hours a day for three-hundred and sixty days a year!"

"Three-hundred and sixty-five!" he corrected with a scorn, pointing the stick towards him with a threatening look. "You are excused, but just because you're still ill".

Connor smirked and crossed his legs again on the unsettled sheets.

His mentor stood up and walked towards him. He slowly leaned forward and then he finally placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

Haytham let go of the window frame. He landed on the grass with a soft thump. He looked around, suddenly feeling frail and... bare. He felt like if someone had uncovered him of his clothes.

'What now?'

His former enemy had revealed everything he didn't want to admit to himself and he had proposed what he yearned and feared the most: the chance of a new life.

What now?

Could it be possible?

Could he really turn his feet and step into the house?

Could he spoke the words that were tormenting his mind?

He looked back. Behind him, the sun was beginning to set. It sent its shining light all around the valley, providing a breathtaking view. He approached the edge of the hill slowly.

And found the answer.

He couldn't go back.

That was the end.

'After all,' he thought smiling 'what time is better than today?'

He slowly leaned forward and looked over the edge of the cliff.

Beneath him, the kind waves of the sea smiled at him.

**Sorry for the very late update. I hope you enjoyed it! It is almost the end of it. I'd like to thank all my supporters and wish you all a Merry Christmas!**


	9. And So Life Carries On

Six weeks had passed.

Connor slowly walked out of his room, his heavy steps sounding like thunderstorm in the Manor's hall way.

"Good morning" greeted his mentor, who had just finished laying the table. "I heard you coming back yesterday night, but I didn't want to disturb you".

The younger man nodded, but didn't reply.

Haytham's death had had a terrible toll on Connor. For the first week he had laid in bed, incapable of doing anything but stare at the ceiling and think. Think... about what, then? He could find no reason to what had happened. His father, down the cliff... he remembered every painful moment of that day. And then there was that word. _Suicide. _

At night time, he had finally decided to look for him. He had searched the property far and wide, and then he had gone to Haytham's room to see if something could signal a secret departure. Only after the night had changed into a pale dawn he came back to his room, feeling nothing but fury, anger, sadness. His father had left him, just when everything seemed to have settled down as it should have!

Then he found it. The letter.

It was in a clean envelope, just as it was ready for delivery. His father's style: everything so ordered, so formal. Connor had opened it without hesitation.

In a matter of seconds, those big paws that his mother used to kiss and call 'my little hands' started to tremble with undeniable fear. Finally, his scream broke the night.

Without hesitation, the boy threw himself out of the open window and began to run on the soft grass.

"Father, Father!" he screamed.

He didn't realise it was too late. Not until he faced the cold and calm water.

A body that looked too much like his own was floating in the sea, lifeless. Grey eyes stared at the pinkish sky, finally quiet, finally serene.

Connor threw himself into the water. Nothing else mattered to him right now: he couldn't care less that the sea was screaming his dissent to him or that the water was almost frozen by the clouds' silent grieving. All he cared was to be sure that nothing could be done.

He swam towards the lifeless man with dying strength. In a matter of second, he reached it.

"Father!" he called, almost voiceless. He took the body in his arms and headed toward the far-away shore. The current was beginning to increase his power: a thunderstorm was approaching.

"Father... it is going to be all right" he said out aloud.

"Boy! You, there! What the hell are you doing?" screamed a voice, "If you don't get out of there now, you'll drawn!"

"James!" Connor screamed, "Help me! My father... he..."

"Leave that corpse be, Connor. Connor!" Interrupted Faulkner's strong voice.

"I can't!" he screamed, as fear built up into his veins. No matter how fast he swam, the current seemed to get stronger and stronger.

"He is already dead"

"No!"

His memory blackened. Connor remembered a rope into the waters. His father's hair spread out into the water, then in the sand. He had a vivid image of himself on him, trying to make him breath. Then a familiar voice.

"Connor. Come away, boy".

When his desperate crying had finally stopped, he had let Achilles dry his hair with a clean towel, down in the kitchen. He felt embarrassed and uncomfortable: no one had ever seen his crying, not like that. He felt miserable. He wanted his father back.

"I am sorry, Connor. Your father was a fine man, after all. He loved you, you know".

And now, things seemed to be coming back to normality. Connor had returned to his busy life. Suddenly, contacts popped out of nowhere, recruits followed him into the streets, new people asked to join him. the Brotherhood was flourishing again under his patience and wise advice. Still, there was something missing into his life.

"I... I was wondering if... if I can introduce you someone special".

"Of course. Should I put another plate on the table?" his mentor replied.

"Don- don't look at me with that face!" exclaimed Connor, almost smiling, "it is not... a woman".

He hurried upstairs, jumping some steps and with a little smile on his face.

"Her name is Lily" he said as he put the infant on the older man's knees, "she is an orphan. I couldn't just... leave her there".

"Oh well".

"What do you say?" he asked.

"What do I say? Do you think I cannot recognize a child's laughter when I hear it? My ears are still pretty good: I know you brought her upstairs yesterday."

Connor looked at him with disbelief, and a little shame. Would he think him silly,-or worse, sentimental- for doing such thing?

"Come on, boy, what are you waiting for? We have a long day ahead of us. First, you must go to Lance and provide the child proper equipment to sleep. Then, clothes. I think Ellen might have something ready, and then, we have to make sure there aren't any dangerous harnesses around the house..."

As the man spoke, Connor grinned to himself.

He wasn't listening.

He was happy.

There was just one last thing to do.

"Father" he whispered as the dying sunrays wetted the sky around him, "look".

He kneeled on his father's grave, holding the sleeping child in his arms.

"I have done as you told me. I have carried on with my life. Look who I have found. It was love at first sight".

He adjusted a lock of hair behind his ear.

"I promise I'll treasure her. I will not repeat our mistakes".

He stood up and sighed. Lily moved slightly and she adjusted her head on his shoulder.

"I love you, Father" he said, and walked away.

Ahead of him, his life shone and sang, inviting. He still had a long, long way to go.

**The End.**

* * *

**This is the last chapter of my story. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it! Would you like a sequel? If you do, please leave a comment. I really appreciate it, it is essential to have feedback, even if negative!**

**While writing this, I think about how lucky I am to be alive, to write this. Reader, please stop and think about it, too. **

**My thought goes to the victims of the plane crash. May their soul rest in peace and find consolation and joy in the afterlife, if there is any.**


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